


Confessional

by sarinamydear



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarinamydear/pseuds/sarinamydear
Summary: An unexpected friend and some reluctant late night conversation





	Confessional

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the always lovely Captain Wheaties for giving me feedback and editing suggestions <3

“Hey, are you ok?” The whispered voice seemed loud as a gunshot in the silence that Jon has grown accustom to in the hours he’d been locked there, a silence that before now had only been interrupted by the rustle of feathers and the boy’s own soft sobs in response. Wiping his eyes quickly – _don’t you dare be trying to get sympathy by crying, you pathetic child, sinners don’t deserve pity_ – Jonathan glared in the darkness towards the source of the voice.  


“What d’ya want?” he demanded coldly, though the effect was ruined by the hoarseness of his own voice, throat sore and dry from screaming, begging for forgiveness for whatever sin he had committed this time. He could hear movement on the other side of the door, moving towards the crack between the two old wooden doors to better hear and be heard.  


“I want to know if you’re ok, just like I asked” the voice responded with a scoff, annoyed at having to repeat himself. Jon could tell the speaker was no older than he was, but it wasn’t someone he recognized from town. In fact, it didn’t sound like anyone from this part of the _country_ , with not even a trace of southern drawl like Jonathan’s. He sounded… sophisticated. Jon hated how simple-minded his own accent made him seem.  


“What’s it to ya?” was the response given, but despite the cool disinterest of his words he found himself shifting closer to the source, back pressed against the splintering wood of the building’s only exit. “I should be askin’ _you_ why you’re trespassin’ on private property in the middle of the night. Granny’d call the cops if she caught you.”  


“ _Please_ ,” he scoffed as though the very notion of being caught was ridiculous. The tone had Jonathan bristling at the implication it held. “She won’t see me. The lights are all off in the big house, she’s probably long asleep by now.”  


It was quiet between them for a moment, Jon determined to end their conversation right there. He could hear the sound of a stick dragging in the dirt right outside the door and wondered what the other boy was drawing in the earth outside of the chapel, and if it would still be there when he was let out in the morning.  


Then one of the crows cawed, loud and harsh, reminding the boy of their presence in their shared night space. The sudden sound of it drew a startled gasp from Jonathan, his breath coming in short gasps as he peered into the darkness in an attempt to see the birds, steeling himself for another attack that didn’t come.  


His distress did not go unnoticed by the person outside. There was a creak of wood and a soft rattle of the chain that was used to padlock the doors closed as Jon could feel the other press against the door at his back.  


“Hey…” he started tentatively. “Are… Why are you in there?”  


_This boy just won’t let up and go away_. “That’s noneya damn business, go home.”  


More silence between them before the boy spoke again, so quiet he might have been speaking to himself. “I’m hiding… from my dad.”  


“…What?”  


“You asked why I was trespassing in the middle of the night. I’m hiding from my dad.”  


Jon didn’t know what to say to that so he said nothing at all, which the boy took as a sign to continue.  


“He came home drunk and… and I didn’t want to be his punching bag again tonight. I’m so _tired_ of it, and I just… I couldn’t take it. So I ran. I bet he’s not even looking for me. He doesn’t care.” The words were laced with a bitterness that Jonathan could relate to more than he’d like to admit.  


“… Granny says the crows’ll teach me to be more grateful for what she’s done for me, for all that God has graced me with. A place to stay and a great-grandmother to care for me when I shoulda died for my mother’s sins the day I was born.” He took a shuddering breath as he admitted it, and it felt oddly… _gratifying_ , knowing he wasn’t the only one suffering. Knowing there was a kindred spirit in this Georgia hellscape that was going through a similar pain as he was.  


The stranger, for his part, seemed to be of similar mind, not commenting on the confessions given in the darkest hours of the night, instead diverting the conversation to something more _normal_ in nature. The idea would have been almost laughable, if Jon weren’t so relieved to no longer be spilling his darkest secrets to a complete stranger.  


“... What’s your name?” the voice asked.  


“Jonathan.”  


“Mine’s Edward. Nice to meet you.”  


He felt a faint nudge against the heel of his hand where it supported him against the door, and looking down he could just barely make out a finger wedged in the crack between the two doors. In lieu of a handshake, Jon hooked his own finger around it, squeezing softly in reply.  


They stayed that way a long while, taking comfort in a touch that for once wasn’t aimed to hurt.


End file.
